Acts of Kindness
by kayaklady
Summary: The events of the High Riders told from the perspective of a young girl living in the shadow of Lancer.


**Acts of Kindness**

By Kayaklady

Disclaimer – Inspired by the TV show Lancer, a property which I have no rights to. This tale is created for fun and not profit.

With thanks to my loving husband for without his efforts these things would be unreadable.

**Prolog**

"No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted." Aesop

The Johnson's came over after church to spend the day. Though Allie is but half my age, and just learning the joys of motherhood, I love having another woman to talk to. My youngest is a teen and I am past childbearing.

While quilting together our 'Sister's Choice' blocks, and discussing the best way of mending a cracked teapot, our noses informed us that Allie's little Abigail had filled her diaper. Though I love young Allie to pieces, there are times I despair at her inability to plan ahead. Today was yet another day where she had only packed one extra set of clothing and that one was used well before church ended.

I had always packed at least four complete sets of clothing for each child that was not yet Johnny-Pot trained. Well, experience is a harsh mistress and my young friend had just received another lesson from her unbending rod. It being scandalous for a child to run about in just a diaper, I went into the cedar chest to fetch a fresh outfit for the toddler to wear. Most of my daughter's baby clothes were sold or given away to the less fortunate. Still, I kept a few cherished outfits that I had made for her in the hopes that someday she could use them on a grandchild.

In digging through the chest, I dislodged a book resting under the bundle of baby clothes. I didn't remember it immediately; so after the Johnson's departed I settled myself in front of the lamp to read it. Opening the cover, I read the inscription in my mother's elegant hand, _'To Diana Bianca Lambert in honor of her eleventh birthday. This book is to record your thoughts and remembrances. Your Loving Mother, Isabella.'_

Looking at my childish scribbling transported me back to the days when I lived upon my parents' small ranch outside of Morro Coyo. Badger Hollow was in the foothills above the valley. We had a tiny three roomed home which we shared with my Abuelo and Abuela. I was the eldest by six years followed by AJ, and baby Carlotta.

**Chapter 1**

The September I turned eleven was full of changes. It was the first time I could go to a school. Green River had a school but it was only for Anglos. Papá was an Anglo but the school board determined that I was unfit to attend since mamá was Mexican. Furious, papá gathered support, funds, and five years later the school opened in Morro Coyo.

Mamá taught me reading, writing and my ciphers at home. I remembered how confident I was that I would do well. The following entries showed how overly optimistic I had been. I always preferred working with my left hand but, until I attended a regular school, I didn't know how wicked this was.

My teacher, Miss Brown, was determined to break me of that evil habit and I saw where my fancy penmanship changed to a barely legible scrawl as I learned to write with my right hand. In spite of the bruised knuckles I received from Miss Brown's ruler I still enjoyed school. This was because I got to meet children nearer to my own age. The book told of how we studied using English in the classroom then switched to Spanish at recess.

In November, my entries turned joyous after Erika Swanson arrived in Morro Coyo. I loved to run and play chase but Sue Blankenship, and the other girls, said that it wasn't ladylike. I had refrained from exercising my natural inclinations until Erika's arrival. A good footrace delighted her as much as I. We even had the audacity to challenge some of the boys. Oh mamá would have been appalled to discover how we challenged and beat most of the boys at footraces.

Upon reflection I expect it was the footraces, and a heaping helping of jealousy, which soured my relationship with Sue and her friends. Sue could be a nice enough, so long as you did what she wanted you to do, but she possessed a vicious nature when crossed. As I read various entries, I remembered how much her petty slights had hurt my feelings.

A short entry in March seemed to be an insignificant way to herald the events that brought so many changes to the valley, but that is the way of childhood. I had used pages to describe the petty quarrels I had with Sue, while this tiny entry changed my life forever, '_Today Papá will teach me to shoot.'_

Even now the memories of the events leading to that day are crystal clear. I suspect that they shall remain so even if I live to see 100. My parents seldom quarreled but upon the idea of women using firearms they disagreed. Mamá thought it unfitting for a woman to use a weapon, yet papá insisted that she learn.

Their loud arguments came to an end one night. I had awakened from a bad dream and was at their door, ready to charge in, when the low tones of my father stopped me in my tracks. I know it was wicked to listen to their 'adults' only' conversation but I couldn't help myself.

Papá said, "I didn't want to frighten the family but the Carbonhall place was torched last week."

Mamá's quiet reply, "Those poor people, how can we help them get back on their feet?"

"Sweetheart, the house got torched with everyone inside."

I bit my knuckles to keep from crying out while Mamá's voice echoed my horror, "The children too?"

"Yes querida. This isn't the first time folks have been killed. Paul O'Brian died last November. Right now the outlaws are after the big outfits, but it is only a matter of time until they turn their attention to those of us with smaller spreads. "

"Why don't we pull out and wait for the army to arrive?"

"We have a good chance of holding out here. The house is easily defended if everyone uses a gun. If we pull out anyone can come in and take over. Then where will we be?"

My mother sounded sad as she agreed to Papá s plan. I snuck back into bed.

The next day papá began teaching us to shoot. He taught mamá to handle a 30/30 and his old navy cap and ball colt. He gave her a flapped holster for the handgun and showed her how to hang it off a belt.

He went into the loft and brought down an old rifle for me to use. It was the one that he had taken with him when he left with Captain Crocker when I was three. I never realized how heavy the weapon was until he began teaching me to use it. Abuelo practiced with his old squirrel gun. Abuela announced that with her eyesight she was more likely to hit one of us than any bandito. She took over watching Carlotta and AJ.

Papá spent hours teaching me to use the muzzle loader until I was able to fire and reload to his 6 second count. I was fairly accurate, if I rested the rifle on a box support, but otherwise I didn't have the arm strength to hold it. On the other hand, Mamá turned out to be a crack shot. Papá called her his Mama Bear.

Papá built up my arm strength every day. He had me hold a pitcher of water at arm's length. Every fourth day he increased the water level. By early April I was ready for my first hunting trip. I read about how proud I was to be able to hit the rabbits as they ran; providing meat for our family. Reading the entry as an adult, a chill went down my spine as I realized my father's true purpose. He was teaching me to hit a moving target.

A May entry illustrated how dire the situation in the valley was.

_Today my parents have forbidden me to go to school. Mamá will continue my lessons at home. Papá now wears a new style six gun every day. He only takes it off only at bed time, and then he hangs it off the bedpost. He and A__buelo__ have plowed a line in front of our house and we children are forbidden to cross it. He says that if we stay behind the line then no one on the canyon rim, above us, can see us._

Thinking back to our ranch, I can now see how well my father had chosen both the site and the materials to build our home. We lived at the end of a small box canyon under a large overhang. Behind the house was a small spring that we could get to from our backdoor. The house faced down a canyon that my father kept clear of brush. He always said, "I want to see a caller coming a long way off." The walls were built of sturdy adobe and the roof was of Spanish tile. Our windows had heavy full shutters with crosses cut into each piece of wood. I always thought that this was to show that we believed in Jesus but now I learned that they were made so that one could fire a gun out of them. We kept a low fire going in the fireplace at all times. That would keep people from trying to play the big bad wolf and come down our chimney. He also taught us to run to the house and grab our weapons whenever we heard a special whistle. I thought of all of this as a big game. How innocent I was.

In August the severity of our game became clear to me. I still remember the terror of that day. Papá was working in the garden when he spotted a pair of riders approaching. At his whistle we all took our positions inside the house as we had rehearsed. I didn't like the looks of either: the big man with the beard, or the skinny Indian with the tall feather in his hat. Papá stood just inside the door saying, "Stop right there, and speak your peace. Or I'll shoot you."

I was standing at the window with mamá and her quiet whisper chilled my soul. "Watch the one with the beard. If his hand touches his gun, shoot him," she used her no nonsense tone of voice that I had learned to never question. I settled my sights on the center of the big man's chest, while watching the man's hand drift towards his gun. I was so focused that I have no idea what the men said. As the man's hand inched towards the pistol grip, my finger began to tighten on the Sharp's trigger. Suddenly the pair wheeled their horses and rode back the way they had come.

After that, papá abandoned working our herd. He stayed close to the house and set up watches for the three adults that used weapons. I still can still see my mother standing at a window illuminated by the moonlight, or my father standing at a small breast work staring down our canyon. It was clear that my parents expected the men to return, and they didn't think they would return alone.

A short entry in September brought tears to my eyes.

_Today I turned twelve and mother made a cherry pie. Just before getting ready for bed I asked papá if I was old enough to stand a watch like mamá. His eyes were so sad when he explained that I needed to be a little bigger before I stood a watch. _

How my father's heart must have broken when he chose to teach his little girl, and beloved wife to become soldiers. I thank the good Lord that things have changed and become more peaceful in the years since those dark days.

The rest of that fall remained the same as I lived and played with my siblings in what I now know to be a state of siege. Fortunately, the attack my father feared never came. Apparently the banditos decided that Badger Hollow was well named and they had better things to do than to dig us out.

An entry in November announced the end of our troubles.

_A__buelo__ took a chance going to town for a few supplies; he came back with the best news. Pardee and his men have been killed attacking the hacienda at Lancer. The Lancer men were helped by Murdock's sons who have returned home. Mamá has taken off the pistol that she has worn since the day the outlaws came, and papá's face no longer holds the grim haunted look it took on when he first taught us to shoot. The best news is that I will be able to go back to school. I hope that Mr. Lancer will send his sons to school so that I can meet them. I wonder if they like to run footraces. _

What a silly thing I was back then. I assumed that since I helped defend our house that Mr. Lancer's sons were the same age as I. My next journal entry reflected my feelings upon learning the truth.

_Oh what a day! I didn't meet Mr. Lancer's sons because they are both grownups. Rats! Still, they were the talk of the schoolyard today at recess. By all accounts, the eldest is a cunning soldier who laid the trap for Pardee and his men. And the other one? He is the infamous Johnny Madrid. The boys told so many stories saying that Madrid has: killed hundreds of men, is fast as lightning, and that rattlesnakes are nicer. Juan said that Madrid killed his first man when he was twelve. The class laughed at him saying that no one our age could do such a thing. I didn't, because I knew how close I'd come to shooting that bearded outlaw. I wonder if Madrid had something like that happened to him?_

_The stories continued until Miss Brown emerged from the classroom and informed us that all the horrible gossip was to desist at once. I never realized that she understood Spanish, let alone spoke it, until she laid into us._

**Chapter 2**

My journal entries returned to the ramblings of a child. I read how Sue managed to solidify her hold upon the other girls. Still things were bearable as long as Erika and I were together. Then in March another disaster struck my life as Erika's family moved away. They had stayed a little over a year and were sick of the valley. Now I was completely without friends.

I took to bringing the gun Papá had taught me to use to school. It was fairly common for the country boys to bring a weapon to hunt with on the way home. Miss Brown thought it highly unorthodox that I do the same thing, but she couldn't prevent me from doing so. Mamá wasn't terribly pleased with the practice either, but she never complained about the fresh meat I brought home each day.

Reading my entries I saw what a wild thing I was becoming. The days we lived under siege had prepared me to live apart from most people. I now used those lessons to build a nearly solitary existence for myself.

The entry on July 3 heralded another change in my life.

_This will be the best Fourth of July ever. Mamá has told me that I will be allowed to stay up after the fireworks to watch the dancing. I will wear my blue dress that mamá has sewn red and white ribbon trim along the hemline. She says that I will be the prettiest girl there doing great honor to both our family and our country. _

I close my eyes and remembered that Fourth of July like it was last week and not some 40 years prior.

I did wear the blue dress and mamá wore a blue skirt with red ribbon trim and a white blouse. Papá was proud of his 'girls'. Morro Coyo was equally fancy as the main street was festooned with patriotic buntings. I stayed close to my family, telling mamá that I'd watch AJ. Little did she know the true reason for my sisterly devotion; if I was busy with my, pain in the neck, brother then the other girls would leave me alone. That day was full of fun and laughter.

Smiling I read the day's notes that marked it.

_I stayed with my family most of the day. We were taking our positions to watch the buggy races when I got to meet an old friend of papá's. He called out to a man striding by us. The man turned and looked closely at papá. Then his eyes sparkled in recognition. I don't think I've ever seen two men quite so glad, or surprised, to see one another. It was so strange to hear someone call papá, Lambert. Then papá introduced him to us as Lieutenant Lancer. The lieutenant was very gracious; taking my mother's outstretched hand he kissed it gently. He smiled saying, "Please call me Scott, Scott Lancer."_

_Oh my, Sue wasn't kidding when she said, "Scott Lancer was, oh so, good looking," he really is. Best of all when papa introduced him to me he kissed my hand too. I felt just like a princess in a fairy tale. I wished that he would stay but mamá said that the men needed some time to themselves. We went to the races and I bet papá and Mr. Lancer went to the saloon for a drink. _

I laughed quietly remembering how hard mother worked to shield us children about the habits of men. I believe she would have been most upset to have discovered that her twelve year old was well aware that papá enjoyed a good drink now and again.

Rocking back in my chair I thought upon the events that set that celebration apart from all others. The merchants had gone all out, importing fireworks from San Francisco. They were spectacular with their gold and silver sparkles.

After the fireworks came the dance. An area at one end of town had been cleared. Wooden boards laid down for a dance floor, and Chinese lanterns had been suspended over the area to provide illumination. Benches and open buckboards were placed around the edges to provide seating while the church had set up tables of refreshments.

Abuela took charge of my sleepy siblings and sent me off to enjoy myself. As I watched the dancing I found myself surrounded by Sue and her vicious cronies. They quickly cut me apart beginning with what I was wearing and finishing by reminding me that I was a snaggle-toothed little nobody. They declared that I was destined to die an old maid because no one would ever marry anyone as ugly as I. Their words cut particularly deep as I did have a tooth that had grown in crooked. Mamá told me that I could possibly move it back into place, by pushing on it whenever I thought about it. Unfortunately, all that resulted from my efforts were a sore tooth, and the girls accusing me of sucking my thumb.

I was so upset by the teasing that I fled into the darkness, and down the street. I didn't stop running until I was out of breath, then I sat down alongside the road and had a long cry. It was after my tears stopped that I discovered how far outside of town I had gotten. My racing had given my legs stamina and I could barely see the lights in the distance. It took me a long time to walk and jog my way back.

Walking through the darkened and mostly empty streets of the town I was surprised to see a man dancing by himself in the shadow of one of the stores. He was using steps of El Jarbe Tapatio, but modifying them to fit the faint sounds of a polka that was being played at the dance. He was so good at it that I stared at him moving in and out of the shadows.

The dim light glinted off his concho belt, and the silver buttons of his calzoneras. Suddenly, he stood alert, scanning the darkness, his hand dropping close to his gun. Staring right at the shadow where I was hiding he growled, "Whoever is there, show yourself."

I gulped and stepped into the light of the street. I could feel his cold blue eyes boring holes into me when he stepped forward. There was only one vaquero in the whole valley with blue eyes, and that was Johnny Madrid. Oh rumor said that he called himself Lancer now, but hearing that growl I knew him to truly be Madrid. I was so surprised and nervous that I almost missed his soft inquiry, "Chica what are you doing there in the dark?"

I wasn't quite able to get the quiver out of my voice as I answered, "I was on my way back when I saw your marvelous dancing."

He cocked his head at that but only asked, "Where were you coming from? You look a little tired."

I told him, "Carter's creek."

"That's a far piece. What were you doing out there?"

"Sue and her friends said no boy would want me 'cause I'm ugly. I just started running and Carter's creek was where I stopped."

He whistled in surprise, "You do know that is almost three miles out of town." He picked up a mug from a horse rail and drank the last of his beer. "You look thirsty." He then went to the water pump and rinsed out the glass saying, "Let me get you some water." When the mug was clean, he filled it, and handed it to me.

Perching myself on the edge of the horse trough I savored the refreshing water. Madrid wasn't inclined to ask a bunch of questions. He just watched me with a kind of a sad look in his eyes. To be honest, that look made me more uncomfortable than when he told me to step out where he could see me. I had to do something to break that look so I said, "I'm sorry I was staring at you when you were dancing."

"Lots of folk stare at me for lots of reasons. I'm used to it. So what did you think?"

"You're good. I wish the band would play El Jarbe Tapatio tonight. It would be nice to see you dancing to the right tune."

Surprise replaced the sadness in his eyes and he asked, "So how did you become an authority on the Hat dance?"

"Mamá and papá dance it all the time at home. They taught me when I was little."

His mouth twitched up into a small grin, "Is your papá a vaquero around here?"

"No papá is a cowboy. We have a small spread near Lancer."

His eyes sparkled at me as he replied, "I'm guessing that means you live in Badger Hollow. Are your folks at the dance?"

I nodded and he continued, "Well, let me walk you back to your folks. They're probably worried."

Johnny Madrid didn't seem so bad a man now that I was talking with him. In fact he was friendly, once he got over me surprising him in the dark. When we reached the circle of light, I pointed out my parents, and he drifted back into the shadows.

Spotting Sue and the other girls, I settled down as far away from them as I could get, and watched the dancing. It turned out to be a needless precaution as the boys from our school had finally worked up their courage enough to ask them to dance.

During one of the band's breaks the Mayor got up and made a small speech. "This Fourth of July celebrates our Great Nations freedom from oppression. The events over this last year and a half have reminded us all just what oppression feels like. It was the heroic efforts of the Lancer Ranch which lifted the fear from this valley. Now it has been brought to my attention that a large number of the Lancer hands have been unable to dance as yet. Therefore, by special request during this break I welcome Misters: Martinez, Rodriguez, and Rivera to the stage." The men were well known for playing folkloric music at fiestas all over the valley. Soon the air rang with shouted requests.

They started playing a lively flamenco. Flamenco was something mamá refused to dance in public, so all three of us settled down to watch. We were soon joined by Scott Lancer and I overheard him say to papá, "You know about half our hands cannot dance a step of that piece. But it sure holds their interest."

The two men laughed and then Scott wandered off to rejoin his father. The musicians' next piece was the Hat Dance. Papá grabbed mamá's hand and they headed for the dance floor. The dancers were still in the early flirting section of the music when a quiet voice came from behind me, "Senorita, if you'd like to see me dance would you join me?" I couldn't believe it; Johnny Madrid was asking me to dance! I was struck speechless and could only nod my acceptance.

He led me to the floor, and soon our heels were pounding a steady rhythm on the boards. How that man's feet could move. I was glad that papá and I rehearsed so often at home because I was barely able to keep up. Johnny noticed my struggle and slowed his tempo to match mine and I smiled at him in gratitude.

My parents' movements on the dance floor were those of two people clearly in love. Johnny's were the more restrained moves of an adult dancing with a child. Still, there was a hint of danger when he tossed his Stetson to the ground and challenged me with his eyes and feet to come as close as possible to the brim. It was a challenge I was happy to answer; dancing within a fraction of an inch of the hat. Johnny grinned and moved just as close to it as I. The crowd shouted their Bravos at our daring.

When we got to the part when the man is supposed to kick over the girl's head, symbolizing his conquest of her, I was disappointed when he used the chaste version of only bowing to me. He took my hand and led me to my parents. Placing my hand within my father's he bowed formally. "You taught your daughter well, muchas gracias for allowing her to dance with me." He tipped his hat to my parents and moved away, fading into the night.

I was hopelessly in love, but I didn't get the opportunity to moon over my first heart throb as every boy in school had to dance with me. They all wanted to know how I'd become acquainted with the gunfighter.

A final notation in my diary on the Fifth of July was my mother cautioning me that Johnny Lancer was much too old for me. I figured that in a few years I'd be old enough for my mysterious dance partner to take me seriously. I was, of course, quite wrong.

Yet, I still hold fond memories of the dance I shared with him. His small kindness inspired my beloved Juan to come out of his shell and ask me to dance that same evening. We haven't stopped dancing since.


End file.
